What's A California?
by zTiamaTz
Summary: Xander Harris is sent to a very different, but strangely familiar place after being sucked into Acathla's portal. This is his life.
1. Chapter One

**Title: What's A California?**

**Author: zTiamaTz**

**Email:**

**Beta By: Starway Man**

**Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Angel the Series, along with the characters from their respective shows, are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.**

**Description: Xander Harris is sent to a very different, but strangely familiar place after being sucked into Acathla's portal. This is his life.**

**A/N: This story will be entirely from Xander's POV.**

**«»0«»**

**CHAPTER ONE**

**«»0«»**

My name is Alexander Lavelle Harris, and roughly three years ago I woke up on the wrong side of the multi-dimensional infinity of the universe.

One of my favorite TV shows - well, up until it was cancelled by the FOX Network back in May '97 anyway - was 'Sliders'. You probably remember it, right? Four people who slid in and out of various realities every week, with what looked like a tricked-out cell phone. Different realities, where history turned out different in each one.

There are days where I wish I had Quinn Mallory's timer - or failing that, I wish that my little journey through Acathla's portal had simply killed me or sent me to Hell or - whatever.

I sat atop the large imulsion pipeline in this version of California eating my lunch, and wary of the large drop behind me. Falling off the pipe was a twelve foot drop by itself, but if you went backwards, you were looking at a rocky, seventy degree slope.

Still, that came with the job, on account of I was a Protector nowadays. The job title sounds a lot fancier than it really is, though. All I did was make sure raiders and punks didn't steal the golden liquid that ran this world away from the Country.

I was sitting on this pipe, because it was my shift to do so. Since nobody wanted to do it, everybody had to take their turn at it. To my left, further down the pipe, were Larry and Dave, a couple of goofball jerk-offs that reminded me of Andrew Wells and his big brother, Tucker. They were supposed to be keeping watch like me, but they were talking to each other instead. Friggin' morons.

I got paid an extra credit an hour when I was up here, because I was the only guy that would put up with them. Below me, about twenty more guys were eating or keeping watch, all armed with their favorite weapons.

There were all kinds; bats, swords, shovels, one guy even had a fucking mace on a chain. Even after a year and a half doing the hack-and-slash thing with Buffy, it was still weird for me to see grown men carrying that kind of stuff around and _not_ wearing tweed.

That's the funny thing about this world, you see. I haven't been able to find anyone here I knew back home, at least not so far. No vampires or demons, either, which is a big plus in my book. Still, the downside is no Giles, no Buffy, and no Willow.

No Cordelia Chase either, my girlfriend for the last six months or so while I was living in Sunnydale. Christ I missed her, she was the best thing that ever happened to me. Instead these days, it was just me, and my job.

**«»0«»**

We got raiders maybe once a week, they'd come trying to siphon off as much imulsion as they could while their buddies kept the rest of us busy. They hardly ever got anything, but that didn't stop them from keeping on trying.

It was amazing how many of them would come at us, still bearing wounds from their _last_ go-around with us. Even one guy who'd lost a freaking arm from Macho's machete had later come back, bandaged and bloody stump and all.

They kept coming because they needed the money for, and to make more, Starch. The biggest illicit drug on the market around here, three years running. It had the same consistency of its namesake, but if you were smart, you wouldn't use it on your clothes, let alone anywhere else on your body.

Because it's incredibly addictive, God damn it. Starchies were sick mother-fuckers. They took the powder, mixed it with water and a drop of imulsion, then molded it into whatever form they wanted. They'd swallow it, stick it up their nose, up their ass, even into their dicks and twats.

Long-term users were easy to spot, because they always had bloated faces and throats if they were swallowing, or distended bellies if they were stuffing it up their asses. Worse yet, there was eventual loss of bowel control and if you ask me, the best thing you could do for those people was euthanasia.

You could smell _those_ starch-heads a mile away, I kid you not. But that wasn't even the nastiest part; I didn't even want to know what their junk looked like, the very thought was terrifying to an average guy like me.

It didn't seem to matter what happened to those idiots, though. Even with the glaring results of the drug available for view on pretty much any street corner of this world's version of Los Angeles, more and more people got hooked on that shit every day.

And the worst part was we had to fight the bastards with melee weapons, or hand to hand. No guns allowed, not since that pipeline in North State had blown sky high. The blast there had taken out twenty square blocks of what, in my world, would have been suburban Billings, Montana.

**«»0«»**

Like I said, different worlds - different names. Hell, the United States of America doesn't exist here. The continent is made up of four different countries bordered by Canada and Mexico, which majorly freaked me out when I first learned it. But more of that later.

Most of the imulsion pipes were protected by three feet of concrete, and buried ten feet underground. But the area my co-workers and I were protecting was a substation designed to fix any problems that might occur anywhere along the line, making it extremely vulnerable.

On the bright side, at least we didn't have to deal with Zoomers on site. The company had put a field fence up around the substation. The field fucked with their brains big-time, even if I didn't know how it worked. I just wished it worked on the damn Starchies too.

I finished off my sandwich and took my last sip of coffee, before stuffing the leftovers into the plain black metal lunch pail I carried with me. It wasn't pretty, but I was never one to be flashy anyways.

"Hey, Bobby!" I called to the guy below me that was maybe a year older than me, but had just started a day ago. Being new, he got the shit work, like putting away my pail. As he looked up, I started to lower the pail on a rope down to him. "Take this to my cubby hole for me!"

He gave me a big smile, still eager to please. "Sure thing, Mister Harris!" Grabbing it, he quickly untied the thing and took off running to the substation building.

Bobby was a good guy, but I didn't think he'd last long at this job. He was a lot like me when I first got here, but he hadn't been hardened by the Hellmouth like I had. After the next Starchie attack, the odds were that he wouldn't be back the next day; that is, if he even survived it.

Sighing, I got back to my job, taking the binoculars from the box on the back of seat, I started looking out for any signs of trouble. Loud coughing distracted me, and I saw Larry and Dave glaring at me.

"Go ahead," I told them simply, letting them get to their own lunches. Hell, it wasn't like they did their jobs right anyway, so what was the difference? I mean, the only reason they hadn't already been booted out on their asses was because their uncle was the head of security here.

Shaking my head, I went back to my binoculars; I still had another five hours to go before my shift was over...

**«»0«»**

**Disclaimer 2: 'Imulsion' was created by Epic Games.**

**Disclaimer 3: The show 'Sliders', and it's characters were created by Tracy Tormé and  
Robert K. Weiss. It is owned by Tormé, Weiss, the Fox Network, and the Sci-Fi Channel.**

**«»0«»**

**END**


	2. Chapter Two

**Title: What's A California?**

Author: zTiamaTz

Email:

Beta By: Starway Man

**«»0«»**

**CHAPTER TWO**

**«»0«»**

With another day over with, a quiet one for a change, I hit the substation building to grab a shower and get my stuff. After getting all the dirt and grime off me, I went up to my locker and stuck my card in the slot.

**:**_Alexander Harris, ID confirmed._**:** the robotic, female voice said, before the locker door popped open.

As I started to pull my stuff out, I heard the same voice for the other guys go off again and again. It was crazy how different this world was, considering I was living in what amounted to a high-end, Third World country...

**«»0«»**

**::Approximately three years ago::**

When I woke up, I was in the middle of what I later learned was an imulsion pumping field. I was in the exact same spot where Angel's mansion, and for that matter the entire town of Sunnydale would have been, if the stuff hadn't been discovered.

It felt - wrong. There was no trace of the Hellmouth; there was just row after row of pumping machines the size of two-story houses, and piping everywhere. If this was Hell, then it was a lot different to what I'd been expecting, namely fire and brimstone and everything else a teenage guy like me was waiting for - after growing up on a diet of TV, movies, and comic books.

It had taken me almost an hour to reach anything even remotely civilized. All the while, I was expecting some demon or something to jump me. When I found a small, concrete building, I knocked on the door and hoped the people inside could point me the way home.

Since the place didn't look like what I thought Hell would be like, I figured there was a chance I was simply in another part of the country, or even a different country in the world. Kinda naive, I know, especially with the way my luck usually ran, but a guy can dream, right? Anyway, a large, older man answered the door, his eyes bulging with anger.

"How did you get in here?" he screamed, before pulling out a baton. "Fucking Starchies, you never know to stay the hell out, do ya?"

He swung the baton at my head, and I easily ducked it, before putting my fist into his fat belly. I didn't know what a 'Starchie' was, but after fighting Angelus himself in his mansion a couple of hours ago, I wasn't gonna let this asshole beat me up over a simple case of mistaken identity.

As the man gasped for air, I put my foot on the back of his left leg, and brought him to his knees. Seconds later, a younger man in his twenties appeared in the doorway, and he looked startled at the sight before him.

The fat man was on his knees, with my knee in his back. I had my left hand around his throat, the other was trying to wrestle the baton free from his grip.

"H-hey man, you don't want to do this," the new guy said nervously, a baton in his hand as well.

I glared at him, he acted like this was _my_ fault or something. "He called me a 'Starchie' and attacked me, what the hell was I supposed to do?"

"Get him, you asshole!" the fat man choked out through my grip.

"Uh, Bull, he doesn't look like he's on the starch," the younger man replied in that nervous tone. "I mean, he doesn't look all messed up like they usually do."

"Just-" _Raaaaak..._ He was cut off, as I wrapped my entire arm around his throat.

I may not be Willow-level smart, but I was still able to guess that 'Starch' was a name for some street drug around here, and 'Starchie' was the same as 'crack-head'. "I'm not a fucking Starchie, James," I told the man, noting the name on his tag.

"How'd you get here then, were you a hostage or something?"

Now I had a chance, maybe I could bluff my way out of this mess and get home. "Yeah, they were hoping to use me as some kind of human shield, but I managed to get away. There's three of them running around here somewhere."

"Okay, look. If you'll just let Bull up, we'll try to find them. You can stay here until we get back," the young guy told me, motioning to the doorway behind him.

I pulled away from Bull slowly, and took a couple of steps back so he could get to his feet. "No hard feelings?" I asked him with a grin.

He just growled at me, and picked his hat up off the ground. "Get inside, asshole, and don't touch nothing."

**«»0«»**

An hour later, after being not-so-nicely escorted off the property, I quickly learned a few things about where the heck I was at. I was still in what should have been the state of California. I even got a nice girl at an imulsion, think gas, station to show me where on the map we were.

This California was a lot different to the one where I had come from, especially since it didn't exist. The United States of America didn't exist either. The continent consisted of four different countries, kinda like what you'd find over in Europe.

From Maine to Illinois, and down to Florida, was the country of 'Penn York'. From the Canadian border to Oklahoma, and to half of Utah was the country called the 'North State'. From Louisiana to half of Arizona was the 'Republic of Texas'. And the rest was known as 'Oregden', named after the Oregon Treaty of 1846, and the Gasden Purchase of 1853.

With nowhere else to go, I managed to hitch a ride south to what, surprisingly enough, was still called Los Angeles. I didn't have much of a choice, since when I asked about Sunnydale? Nobody had ever heard of it.

The day, month and year were still the same, 05/13/98, so it didn't take much brainpower to realize that wherever I had landed after being spit out of that portal, it sure as hell wasn't home.

It quickly dawned on me that since Sunnydale didn't exist - had never existed - then anyone born in that town wouldn't exist either. Sure enough, I found out later that the Harris' and my mother's side of the family were nowhere to be found. Neither was Willow and her family, and Jesse and his family; and lemme tell you, after I found that out I was fairly sure that in a way, this _was_ Hell for me.

I'd still had hopes for Cordelia, Buffy and Giles, though, because they weren't born in Sunnydale. The G-man was from the land of bangers and mash, the Buffster was an LA valley girl born and bred, and my girlfriend was originally hatched in New York before her parents moved to the Hellmouth when Cordy was two.

But like I said; no Hellmouth, vampires and demons in this world. Which meant no Watchers Council, and no Slayers. Giles had died in combat after enlisting in the equivalent of the Royal Air Force when he was eighteen years old. I remember Buffy once saying he'd wanted to be a grocer or a fighter pilot when he was a little kid. Buffy herself had been killed when she was fifteen; a group of Zoomer's had ripped her, and a number of her friends apart.

And as for my Cordy? I had no idea whether she'd even been born in what was called Penn York here, it was impossible to access their birth records from Oregden. Hell, you may as well try getting classified information from North Korea just by asking politely!

Nope, I was all alone. Seventeen years old, and what's more, in the eyes of Oregden law I didn't exist. Had never existed. If the Imperials suddenly decided to pick me up for _anything_, food rioting, preaching without a permit, even _jaywalking_ - I was in deep shit, because they'd lock me up straightaway for being an illegal alien, or even worse, a spy.

You don't want to know what I had to do for that first year or so, until I had enough money to buy a fake birth certificate and officially register myself on the grid. No power on this Earth - or any other one, for that matter - will ever loosen my lips about that, either.

Just suffice it to say, I wasn't a virgin anymore by the time I was eighteen years old...

**«»0«»**

**END**


	3. Chapter Three

**Title: What's A California?**

**Author: zTiamaTz**

**Email:**

**Beta By: Starway Man**

**«»0«»**

**CHAPTER THREE**

**«»0«»**

**:**_It is now five a.m._**:** my alarm clock taunted me awake, to another day of the daily grind that was my life during May 2001.

I tried to ignore that incredibly annoying voice, but I knew that in another minute it would announce the time once again. It wouldn't stop either, until I got up and pushed the button. I'd set it up that way, so that I wouldn't fall asleep again after the damn alarm clock woke me up.

I stared straight up to the dog head-shaped water stain on the ceiling of my 'apartment'. Well, that was just bullshit actually; it was nothing more than a walk-in closet with a window, with just enough room for the bed and a couple of chairs.

While I made pretty good money as a Protector, this place was still the best I could afford; I still had a few debts incurred from my first year of life here, and the price of living in LA definitely ain't cheap.

Seriously, there was no such thing as 'middle-class' here. You were either rich or you were considered 'poor', that's just the way this world worked. I betcha my Cordy would have loved it; hell, if she exists somewhere in this dimensional neck of the woods, the Cordy of this world probably loves it too.

**:**_It is now five-oh-one a.m._**:**

Cursing, I finally dragged myself out of bed and walked the three steps it took to hit the alarm clock's button by the front door. Quickly pulling on a pair of sweatpants and flip-flops, I grabbed a towel and locked up the apartment, before heading down the hallway to the communal showers and toilet area for my floor.

That had been another big shock for me; there was no such thing as separate men's and women's toilets here. Don't ask me why; everyone just accepts it as normal, and questioning it just draws unwelcome attention to yourself. Hell, unless you were rich, there was no such thing as a private bathroom either.

Whether it was a public or an apartment bathroom, and whether you were taking a crap or a shower, you did it in front of other people; male or female. It had been something I'd had a hard time getting used to; but like the old saying goes, you either adapt or die. And me, I wanted to live.

The shower thing didn't bother me as much in front of other guys, since I always did it after gym class at Sunnydale High, but the fact that there were women there was just too weird. Also, there were no partitions between toilets; you could be standing there taking a leak, while a woman was in plain-view, right next to you, doing the same thing.

Maybe the women's liberation movement had been a much greater influence on public attitudes here all those decades ago, who knew?

Ninety-nine percent of the time, though, it wasn't a big deal to me anymore. Almost everyone did their business, and they were respectful of each other. Every once in a while, though, you'd have some asshole mucking things up for everyone.

Whether it was just staring, or anything all the way up to groping, it was very frowned upon. At least twice a month, I'd see a person get beat down due to their behavior. On several occasions I'd even joined in, if the guy had done something particularly heinous to one of my female neighbors.

It was funny, though; if I somehow ever made it back to Sunnydale, I could drop my pants in front of everyone in the girls' bathroom, and not an ounce of red would cross my face. Not that I'd ever actually do that, of course, but the thought of mooning all of the Cordettes honestly brought a grin to my face.

**«»0«»**

I came back to my place with a smile on my face, Janette had been there this morning. She lived in the apartment down the hall from me, and we'd been making eyes at each other for a few weeks; because in all honesty, the girl was absolutely gorgeous.

Her mocha-colored skin, and long, dark hair were amazing. We didn't see each other all that often, maybe twice a week, but when we did - _wow_. She hadn't approached me, though, seeming content to just play our little game.

I'd thought of approaching her several times, but Janette was one of the few highlights in an otherwise incredibly drab and boring existence. And I know what you're thinking - what about Cordelia?

Come on, it's been three years since I last saw my girlfriend! Even if what we'd had together really had been something more than just tawdry teen lust, I'm sure she would have moved on by now - and that's assuming she lived long enough to graduate high school, which is certainly nothing to be taken for granted in Sunnydale.

If she was still alive back home, I didn't want Cordelia to spend the rest of her life in mourning for me, and if there was a Cordelia Chase in this world - well, she wouldn't know me if we ever met, and since I wasn't rich, if she was anything like my Cordy then she wouldn't want to know me, either.

Still, I didn't want to ruin what little fun I had where Janette was concerned, so I simply went back to my apartment to get dressed.

I pulled on my pants and a long-sleeved shirt, getting ready for work once again. Since it was Saturday, I only had a half day of work today. Four and a half hours of work, and the day off on Sunday. The Company had all the lower rung people come in for that day, something I'd had to do for six months because of the high turn-over rate for the job.

Anyone who had experience and that wanted to keep an eye on the grunts got time-and-a-half. I did it, but only if I had no other plans. Unsurprisingly, in this world - with no friends or relatives - that happened quite often.

**«»0«»**

Finally dressed, and ready to go, I picked up my X41A. Believe it or not, it was a laser rifle that had a strong resemblance to the old Thompson machine-guns that all the gangsters used in my world, back in the Twenties.

Sad fact is with all the Starchies and Zoomers out there, you never knew when something wanting to kill you was going to pop up. You needed a permit to carry one in public these days, but with some help from my boss, I'd been able to get one. And maybe it was just a leftover from Soldier Guy three years ago, but I didn't feel properly dressed without it walking on the streets these days.

Finally, I left the apartment and locked up behind myself, ready for another day of waiting to be attacked by the goddamn Starchies. And to think my career week aptitude test had come back saying I was best suited to be a prison guard, during junior year.

Huh. Maybe that stupid-ass test hadn't been all that far wrong, because there are days when this whole freaking world feels like a prison to me.

**«»0«»**

**END**


	4. Chapter Four

**Title: What's A California?**

Author: zTiamaTz

Email: WMullen78 at Yahoo . com

Beta By: Starway Man

**«»0«»**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**«»0«»**

As I was leaving the apartment building, I held the front doors open for the old woman with the cane like I did every morning. I didn't know where she was going, or even what her name was, but she was always making her way into the complex just as I was leaving.

She always gave me a little smile of thanks, too. Granted, it wasn't staking a vamp, or stopping the end of the world, but it was _something_ at least. It also reminded me that I hadn't become so jaded in this world, that I just didn't give a shit about anything anymore.

Heading out to catch my train - and who would have ever believed Los Angeles, the land of automobile supremacy, had decent public transport in this world? - I just hoped there weren't any attacks on the pipeline, at least not during _my_ shift.

**«»0«»**

Riding the train along the LA underground was always a bit of a toss-up. You could have a really peaceful ride, or some asshole Starchie could cause a ton of problems. The side-effects of long-term use were clear, and those users were easy to spot, but with the ones that had recently started using, you just never knew.

Today, things were calm. I sat there reading the paper, but still keeping one eye on my X41A and lunch pail. Even on a quiet ride, you never let your guard down; it wasn't like there were any cops around.

While Oregden did have an army and everyone had to do two years' worth of National Service at some point, the military mostly watched the border to make sure North State and the Republic of Texas didn't try to pull anything funny. The borders were built up a lot like the 38th parallel, but it wasn't nearly as intense.

See, while the four countries comprising the central part of North America weren't openly hostile to each other, border skirmishes had been pretty common since the 19th century.

There was trade and tourism and stuff between certain nation-states, but still, there was always some sort of tension regardless. Especially in those parts of the continent where slavery had been practiced - right up until the start of the 20th century, apparently.

The closest thing to police in this country were called Imperials. To me, the name sounded vaguely British, and I wasn't sure where it came from. From what I'd heard, though, most of 'em were pricks who treated the average guy like shit.

Not that it really bothered me one way or the other, as they mostly went after the Zoomers and the hardcore starch-heads. Otherwise, good luck trying to find one. In all the years I'd been in this world, I'd seen them exactly three times, and that was only when the shit had truly hit the fan.

Finished with my paper, I set it down on the seat next to me, deciding to let the next guy who came along take it. As I looked around, I noticed a man a few seats down, on the opposite side staring at me. His slightly puffy cheeks let me know he was almost certainly a starch-head.

I lifted the X41A up, just enough so that he could see the barrel, letting him know I wasn't going to be fucked with. He quickly got up and headed for another car, hoping to find an easier, less attentive victim.

I could have done something, I suppose, followed him or whatever; but I needed my job, and there were plenty more where he came from. It hadn't taken long for me to realize that sticking your neck out here was about as smart as it was doing it in Sunnydale; the only difference was death by Starchie, rather by vampire.

There had been too many stories about guys trying to be heroes and ending up getting addicted to that stuff, a group drags you down then force-feeds you that crap so you quickly don't give a shit what they're doing.

For all I knew, that guy who'd just eyed me up could have been the _last_ hero who tried to do something about the problem, so no thanks.

**«»0«»**

The rest of the ride had been uneventful, and as I climbed the stairs to the street surface, I could hear people yelling through bullhorns, and groups chanting. Just great, it was another riot in the making.

This happened every couple of months; all the people with the crap-ass jobs got together to bitch about it. Instead of actually _looking_ for something better, like I did after I arrived from up north three years ago, they just complained instead.

Not that I minded too much. These dumb-ass protests could be either good or bad for me. It held up a lot of guys on their way to work, which meant if I could get to the substation on time, I could get hazard pay for working while being under-staffed. On the other hand, if I couldn't get there because of these idiots, then I didn't get paid shit.

I cut down an alley, hoping the protest area wasn't too big, and that they didn't catch sight of me. While I was far from rich, having the gun and pail meant it looked like I had a job. Since I was actually going to work instead of joining them, that meant mine obviously paid more than theirs, and that I was a cut above them.

Huh. For a moment, I wondered if that was why Cordelia had always produced the bitch act in public; as a way of dealing with the idiots who were jealous of her, without even getting to know her as a person.

Damn it, I had to get my head back in the game. I looked at the protesters; they were a bunch of fucking idiots, any area surrounding an imulsion substation was Starchie territory. God only knew how many of those morons had gotten picked off on their way here, or how many more would be on their way home.

The protesters treated them like they were simply homeless people or something. Back home, I could understand that. Here, though, starch-heads would cut your throat for a single cred, on account of there was no going back from the stuff. All you could do for the Starchies was put them out of their misery.

Wanna try to tell the protesters that? Good luck, is all I can say. If they didn't call you a genocider, they'd come at you with numbers like they always did. Two or three of those guys, I could take easy, but I'd seen too many people get boot parties for messing with them.

It didn't take much to set them off these days, either, but I wasn't surprised by it. The protest of the week at that college, Berkeley or whatever it was, was always on the news every day back home. Why should it be any different here?

Jogging across the street, with the mob about twenty feet to my right, I hit another alley. If this kept up, not only would I get to the substation on time, I'd even get there early. I'd be raking in the creds big time my next payday.

Maybe I could ask Janette out to dinner...

**«»0«»**

**A/N: My beta, Starway Man, recently started publishing his next story: 'The Effects Of Wishful Thinking'. From what I've read so far, this is going to be another great story.**

I've also started another story of my own called 'Let's Make A Deal'. If you have a chance, please check them out, and let us know what you think. Thank you.

**«»0«»**

**END**


	5. Chapter Five

**Title: What's A California?**

**Author: zTiamaTz**

**Email: WMullen78 at Yahoo . com**

**Beta by: Starway Man  
**

**«»0«»**  
**  
CHAPTER FIVE**  
**  
«»0«»**

I was now two blocks from the substation, and I'd already had to hold off four groups of starch-heads with the X41A. They were dumb as shit, but even they knew they'd get cut to pieces if I opened fire at 'em.

I was still avoiding the mob, since they wouldn't come back here. They were dumb too, but not dumb enough to head into the back-alleys of a Starchie district. Even though they'd violently defend the scumbags, they were _still_afraid of them.

Heading down the stairs into the courtyard of a four-corner apartment complex, I was stopped dead in my tracks by the sound of a loud moan.

Fuck, _Zoomers_.

**«»0«»**

When I'd first gotten to this dimension, or world, or whatever the fuck it was called, I'd thought there weren't any vamps, demons, or for that matter any supernatural things here.

Sure, there were enough starch-heads in the country to count as a Los Angeles-style problem, but nothing that you'd consider Hellmouth-y. Then, I'd seen a Zoomer, and that had changed my mind big-time.

I quickly slung my lunch pail over my back, and got a good, two-hand grip on the laser rifle. Zoomers were surprisingly fast, and I didn't want to try and run until I knew where they were coming from. The worst thing you could do was take off running, only to end up right in front of them.

As I got to the bottom of the steps, I crouched down, pointing right, then left, trying to figure out where the moan had come from. With the high apartment building walls around me, the echo made it hard to pinpoint.

I should have known this was going to happen, when there was suddenly a complete lack of starch-heads. They should have been all over this courtyard, they were _very_social with each other. Hell, there was nothing nastier then seeing two long-term users banging on a public street.

Stepping into the courtyard, I just wanted to make a run for the other side, but that was exactly where they could be. It was my own damn fault for not keeping an eye on my surroundings, I was too busy thinking of the pay packet I was going to get; that'll teach me to ever do that again, assuming I survived this.

I heard another moan, this time from my left, I turned toward it, and saw one lurching down the stairs at a fast pace. They were pretty much just fleshy skeletons, that dripped this awful black slime wherever they went - sorta like a Chaos Demon, minus the antlers.

See, unless the cock-suckers got seriously messed up, when a starch-head dies, they become Zoomers. The imulsion somehow re-animates the body, and considering it was being pumped from where the Hellmouth would be in my world, no big surprise there.

Their chest cavities were also full of the stuff, and the fact that the starch-heads still preferred to attack us at the substation, rather than go after even one of these things said just how bad they really were.

Aiming at the Zoomer, I pulled the trigger and waited. Shooting something here was never as simple as point and shoot. Once you had your target sighted, they were identified through satellite recognition. Then, you were told whether you were authorized to shoot or not.

**:**_Target designated, please wait,_**:**Robo-chick's voice came from a small speaker on the rifle. God, I was sick of her already.

It was Oregden's answer to gun control. As soon as you wrapped your hand around the grip, a DNA sample would be taken to prove it was you.

Even their own troops couldn't pick up another soldier's weapon during a fight. The authorities were so afraid of a coup d'état, or an armed civilian uprising, they'd banned guns in the country entirely for civilians until this tech became available.

**:**_Enjoy Hero Cola, available at your nearest municipal store._**:**

I growled at hearing that; _fucking commercials_. Like I really gave a shit about grabbing a soda when I was fighting for my life here...

It wasn't all bad, though; if you had so much as a _gram_of starch in your system, the X41A would instantly blow up in your hands. So at least those freaks weren't running around armed.

Five seconds after I pulled the trigger, with the Zoomer less than four feet away, I got my answer.

**:**_Authorization accepted. Good luck, Mister Harris._**:**

The laser rifle erupted, spitting out the blue beams with surprisingly little kick. I easily stitched the bastard from belly to head in a matter of seconds, practically splitting him in half.

As the Zoomer fell back to the concrete, the golden liquid leaked out of into a pool beneath him. I wanted to kick myself for not bringing a siphon kit, that amount of imulsion could have got me five hundred credits easy, on the black market.

My self-loathing came to a shuddering halt when another moan sounded off, as I watched a second Zoomer coming down the stairs I'd wanted to use to escape. I aimed at him as well, figuring I wasn't going to get out of here until they were all gone.

**:**_Target designated, please wait._**:**

This thing was even quicker than the last one, so I started to back up, hoping to buy myself some time.

"**_Eaaaaat!_**"

"What. The. Fuck?" These things had _never_talked before. What the hell was going on here?

**:**_Try Milady Tampons!_**:** The voice mocked cheerfully, as always. **:**_Keep the red out!_**:**

I hit the stairs I'd initially come down, and now, not only was I going to be late, I might just get killed by a talking Zoomer, freaking _wonderful_.

**:**_Authorization accepted. Good luck, Mister Harris._**:**

I opened fire on the Zoomer just like the last, but after the first three beams hit the thing, the rifle stopped shooting.

**:**_We're sorry. Your credit payment, scheduled for seven - twenty - four - two - thousand - one - has not been received._**:**

"Come on, you mother-fucker!" I slapped the gun several times, not believing what I'd just heard. "I just transferred payment two-!"

I was cut off, when another moan sounded from behind me. Holy shit, the slime-bags were surrounding me, and I didn't even have a working weapon anymore.

**:**_Need creds fast? Call Fast Creds at 818-555-1370 today!_**:**

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**  
A/N: For anyone that actually cares, the 'Zoomer' is based on 'Tarman' from the original Return of the Living Dead. If you know not what I speak, I strongly suggest going out and renting the movie since it's around Halloween anyways.**

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**  
END**


	6. Chapter Six

**Title: What's A California?**

**Author: zTiamaTz**

**Email: WMullen78 at Yahoo . com**

**Beta By: Starway Man**

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**CHAPTER Six**

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I couldn't believe this bullshit; I had a Zoomer leaking highly flammable, toxic imulsion all over the place coming right at me, another one coming down the steps behind me, and the fucking Oregden Bank had messed up my funds transfer!

Problem was these things weren't like vamps, where you could go hand-to-hand and _maybe_get a lucky shot in and survive. I'd seen pics of what they could do to a person in the newspaper; it made the bloated, continence-challenged Starchies look downright pretty.

**:**_Need to get away from it all?_**:**

"Shut the fuck up!" I screamed at the rifle, even as I raised it up to head level.

**:**_Take a cruise on one of Oregden's luxury warships._**:**

Finally just ignoring the damn thing, I slammed the stock of the gun into Drippy's face, knocking him back.. If I could get just one more good hit on him, I'd be have the room to get by.

Overestimating my own skill, I went in for another shot. It took a swipe at me, which I tried to duck. Not fast enough, unfortunately; the Zoomer ended up tearing a chunk out of my left forearm, and knocking the X41A out of my hands.

"**_Fuuuuuck uuuuuup._**"

Great, just great. Now they were insult-

"Get down!" a woman's voice called out from somewhere behind me.

Not having to be told twice, I hit the ground almost instantly. I had to suck in a breath though, when my left arm hit the ground - that Zoomer had really tagged me good.

_Beep...beep...beep_. Thuk!

Before I could even process what that sound was, ol' Drippy exploded less than two feet from me. I would have been happy with that, except burning imulsion from his corpse had fallen onto my back, and was eating its way through my fucking shirt!

"Shit!" I got to my knees, and started yanking the long-sleeved shirt off as quickly as I could, ignoring the pain from my forearm. Hospital patient, I did not want to become!

"Behind you, kid!"

In my haste to save myself from some nasty burns, I'd forgotten all about the Zoomer behind me. Running with the shirt still covering my face, I got about five steps before I smacked face-first into something, hard. This was not my day.

_Beep...beep...beep_. Thuk!

I heard the 'splat' of the second Zoomer exploding, just as I managed to yank the shirt free off my body. Looking up to see what I'd hit, I saw it was a pedestal for the bust of a bearded man. I had no idea who he was, and I wasn't particularly pleased with him at the moment either.

The sound of boots coming toward me made me forget all about the bust, as I turned around, fists at the ready. I dropped them quickly to my sides, as I got a look at who was walking up.

My savior came toward me; she was a strawberry-blond woman, probably in her early forties but still _very_attractive. The E209 hand-held rail gun she carried wasn't too bad, either. Craziest part of all, though, she was a freaking Imperial.

"Not too bad, _for a kid_," she said easily, not in the least bit put off by my show of defiance. "I've seen Oregden Elite's piss themselves when a Zoomer was half as close as that one was to you."

I shrugged at that. "I won't lie to you, I was trying to get enough room to make a run for it."

She briefly looked down to where my gun was. "Your authorization didn't come quick enough?"

"I got three shots off, then that bitch told me my fucking credit ran out." I glared at the laser rifle at her feet in anger. "Even though they took the goddamn payment out of my account _two_weeks ago!"

"Still, you did good, if you were a little older I'd-"

"I'm free tonight." My eyes left the gun and made their way up her body, damn but she looked good in that uniform.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"I'm very mature for my age, how's dinner and a movie sound?" Christ, I couldn't believe I was actually trying to snag a date with an Imperial. Huh - I'd come a long way from that kid who couldn't even tell Buffy he had the hots for her, right from the first day he'd met her. Still, I guess everyone's gotta grow up sometime.

She smirked at my comment, instead of giving me shit about it like any other Imperial. "I was _going_to say if you were old enough, I'd sponsor you for Imperial training." She took the scorched shirt from my hands, and examined it. I noticed she kept well away from the burning imulsion stains.

"I'm actually older than I look, and very-"

**:**_Margate! Where the fuck are you?_**:**a tinny male voice cut me off suddenly, making us both jump.

The woman grimaced; the guy obviously wasn't her favorite person in the world. She lifted what looked like a watch to her mouth. "I'm in the Victory Apartments courtyard, sir." She looked around the dump that we were standing in. "_Some victory_," she muttered to herself.

**:**_What the hell are you doing all the way back there?_**:**

"My job _sir_, I found a civvie fighting off a couple of Zoomers."

**:**_Well, make sure he isn't one of these asshole protesters, and then get back to your fucking post!_**:**

"Right away, sir," Margate told him with a sigh, before looking back to me. "Sorry, but I'm going to have to scan your card so I can prove that I was here."

Holy shit - this was going to be the test for the card. It was as real as you could buy on the black market, and I'd been able to get my job and apartment with it. But I'd never had the card scanned by an Imperial before.

If it didn't pass muster, this was going to end up _very_badly for me.

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**A/N: Earlier this week, I added a new chapter to my World War Z story 'Z War'. If you haven't checked it out, please do so.**

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**END**


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